The Skull Throne

More and more dropped out. First the men, and then the children. Soon the women began to drop off, as well. And then there were but a few, including Kendall, Rojer’s favorite apprentice. And then none. Still Amanvah and Sikvah held the pose effortlessly, like marble statues.

Rojer called them Jiwah Ka and Jiwah Sen, and he loved them so. Arrick had taught Rojer to fear marriage like a plague, but what the three of them had was unlike anything Rojer ever dreamed.

Sikvah seemed to sense when he wanted to be alone and would vanish, reappearing as if by magic the moment he needed something. It was uncanny, and amazing. She was warm and inviting, caressing him and giving his every word and wish—not to mention every twitch in his motley pants—her utmost attention and effort. He confided in her as they lay in the pillows, knowing full well it would get back to Amanvah.

Sikvah was the heart of their little family, and Amanvah, of course, was the head. Always serious, always in control, even in lovemaking. And usually, Rojer had learned, right. Amanvah demanded surrender in all things, and Rojer had learned it was best to give it to her.

Unless the fiddle demanded it. Since the night they first used their music to kill corelings, his wives had known that in this, he led. Amanvah was the head and Sikvah the heart, but Rojer was the art, and art must be free.

They finished the session at rest position on their backs, then kicked themselves upright. Their students remained on their backs, treating Rojer to a chorus of panting and groans while he approached the bandshell, kissing his wives as they came down the steps from the stage, their breathing calm.

Kendall was the first of the Hollowers on her feet, coming over to them. Amanvah and Sikvah treated his other apprentices like servants, but Kendall they had taken to. She was the most skilled of the lot, turning their musical trio into a quartet, and limber enough to have a real chance at even the most difficult sharusahk moves one day. Her breathing was deep and even, but it was quick with exertion.

“You did well today, Kendall am’Hollow,” Amanvah said in Krasian, giving that rare, dignified nod that meant more from his Jiwah Ka than the loudest praise. Kendall had been included in the Krasian lessons they gave Rojer, which was a great help to him, allowing him a practice partner who struggled as much as he.

Kendall beamed, pulling her loose motley pants into an impressive curtsy. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Her practice robe fell open a bit as she rose, and Rojer’s eyes dipped, catching sight of the line of thick scars on her chest.

Kendall caught him looking, smiling at first until she glanced down and realized he was staring at the scars and not her exposed cleavage. Suddenly the girl blushed, pulling the robe to cover herself. Rojer quickly looked away. The shame in her eyes made him wish he was cored.

Amanvah picked up on the discomfort in the air immediately. She tilted her head slightly at Kendall, and immediately Sikvah took the girl’s arm.

“You are ready for more advanced sharukin,” Sikvah said, “if you can perfect your scorpion pose.”

“Thought I had that one,” Kendall said.

“Better than any of the chin, perhaps,” Sikvah said, “but you must reach a greater standard if you are to be instructed in higher forms. Come.”

Kendall glanced at Rojer, but allowed herself to be led a short distance away to practice. Amanvah watched the women go, then turned back to Rojer the moment they were out of earshot. “Husband, explain. You often lament at how your people behave at the sight of your alagai scars, yet you do the same to your apprentice.”

Rojer swallowed. Amanvah had a way of cutting right to the heart of a matter. He was more than a little afraid of her sometimes.

“It’s my fault she got them,” he said. “I wanted to show off how good she was at charming demons with her fiddle. Pushed her to solo before she was ready, then wandered too far from her side. She made a mistake, and I wasn’t there to keep her from being cored.”

His vision blurred with tears. “It was Gared who saved her. Waded right into a pack of demons and carried her out. She nearly died as Leesha operated. I gave blood till I felt I might pass out, but it was barely enough.”

Amanvah looked at him sharply. “You gave her your blood?”

The tone pulled Rojer up short like a bucket of cold water. Krasians had a thousand laws and customs when it came to blood, but Rojer had never grasped more than the rudiments. Giving Kendall his blood might make her his sister, or it might mean she and Sikvah needed to have a knife fight. Creator only knew.

Amanvah lifted a finger toward Sikvah. She and Kendall had barely done anything at all, but immediately Sikvah began complimenting Kendall’s improvement. In moments, they rejoined Rojer and Amanvah. Kendall looked confused, but she, like Rojer, had learned it best to simply ride along when his wives began acting strangely.

“You must join us for lunch.” Amanvah’s words were as much command as invitation, an honor that could not easily be refused.

Kendall dipped another curtsy. “Be honored, Your Highness.”

They all climbed into the motley coach, riding to Shamavah’s restaurant. The count had forbidden the Krasians from owning property, but that had done little to slow Shamavah when she saw the building, a large ranch house not far from the center of town. Abban’s First Wife had deep pockets filled with gold, and it had taken her only one session of haggling with the owner to walk away with a century lease that would stand in any magistrate’s court in Thesa. Craftsmen had been at work night and day, adding extensions and additional floors. Already it was unrecognizable as the more modest building it had been before.

First to be finished were luxury quarters for visiting Krasian dignitaries. His wives, finding their room at Smitt’s Inn unacceptable, had transferred their things immediately. Rojer had not been consulted, but could hardly complain. Shamavah showered them in splendor while they waited on construction of Rojer’s manse.

Manse. He shook his head at the thought. He’d never truly had a home at all, and since Arrick died, he’d never had more than a single room to lay his head. Soon he’d be able to house an entire acting troupe with room to spare.

A crowd was forming outside Shamavah’s, waiting for tables at the bustling establishment. Many of the Hollowers had developed a taste for spicy Krasian cooking, and no sooner did one backside lift from the pillowed floor than another took its place.

But Amanvah was Krasian royalty, and Shamavah never failed to greet her—or even Rojer—personally. “Your usual table, Highness?”

“Inevera,” Amanvah said. It meant “If Everam wills,” but as with Kendall, all knew it was a command. “But first, a bath to wash away the sweat of sharusahk.”

Rojer had neither seen nor smelled a hint of sweat on his wives, but he shrugged. Those two bathed more than every noble in Angiers. He had plenty of papers to review in the meantime.

He escorted the women to the large bathing chamber, where Shamavah’s people were already carrying in steaming buckets to heat the water. “I’ll be in the—”

“—bath with us,” Amanvah said, her tone pleasant and relaxed, as if his refusal was unimaginable.

Rojer and Kendall exchanged an uncomfortable glance. “I bathed just this morning …”

“A clean body is Everam’s temple,” Amanvah said, her grip on his arm like a steel vise as she led him into the steamy, wood-floored room. Sikvah had a similar hold on Kendall. Both of them resisted as the women began to pull at their clothes.